


Mortui Vivos Docent

by CourierNinetyTwo



Series: Victorian Horror AU [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Victorian Horror AU, vampire!Widowmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8444566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: The living can learn a lot from the dead, and Angela knows this to be true whenever Amélie feeds off of her. Late fic for Halloween, set in a Victorian Horror AU.





	

_Penance is not supposed to feel pleasurable._ **  
**

Angela forces that simple truth run through her head ad infinitum as Amélie’s fangs sink into her throat, the dual pricks of pain fading within seconds as a cool tongue soothes her skin, encouraging blood to the surface. The position can’t be comfortable for the vampire, bending down over the back of the chair while she sits, but the distance was a mutual agreement. If she was in Amélie’s lap, this would be nigh unbearable, and just the thought sends a jolt of heat through Angela’s body that has nothing to do with contrition.

_Maybe this is how the saints felt, finding ecstasy in agony._

If she takes a moment to think about it, the whole thing is a rather gruesome process, the quick laps of the vampire’s tongue making a sound that could only be appealing on a primal level and left the air dripping with iron’s heavy scent. Yet that isn’t enough to stifle the warmth building in the pit of her stomach like a bonfire, something that could burn her alive. Angela bites her lip to stifle a whimper, only to realize her folly within an instant – now everything tastes like blood.

At least no one dies when Amélie feeds like this. Most of the vampire’s targets were terrible men, but Angela has dedicated her life to assailing death, even when her patients come back as monsters. Gabriel’s hunger was not so easily sated, not when the soul couldn’t be stripped by degrees from a living body – yet – and that young warrior that had traveled so far from his home in Japan now hid his metal limbs and scarred face behind gloves and layers of scarves, an invisible man in all but name.

And now there was some old Egyptian woman sending letters, speaking of an object from her homeland that performed miracle cures. If Angela wanted it, she had to promise to save the woman’s daughter, although from what had not been said.

_Are you sure you’ll want her back when I’m done, Captain Amari?_

“Ah–” A choked gasp leaves Angela’s throat unbidden when Amélie’s fangs withdraw, the absence of them aching far more than the bite itself. “Are you sated?”

There’s a slow swallow that follows, a drop of crimson licked from dark, full lips. “For tonight, I suppose.”

“You can take more if you need it.” She insists immediately, ignoring the shiver that goes from head to toe under the thick coat donned right before Amélie’s arrival, with a collar high enough to hide the evidence the vampire left behind.

“If I take all I need, Doctor Ziegler, you’ll be bed-ridden for a fortnight.” A heavy accent warps the words, but not the thread of tension running between each of them. It had happened once before, although Angela had found herself in bed first and bled later.

The temptation is so hard to resist, to dare to close to death without crossing that threshold, but she manages to steady herself with a deep breath. “Then come back tomorrow night. I’ll make sure to have a fortified breakfast.”

“You won’t have recovered by then.” Amélie says it simply, without judgment. There may have been a passing flicker of empathy, but neither of them dared to mention it. “But I’ll come nonetheless.”

She knows it is a dangerous game the two of them play, desire dueling with a feral and inescapable hunger, but every night Amélie comes in from the shadows is another life saved on Paris’ streets. They had done the same in Zürich years ago, before Angela was run out of the country for her experiments.

“I look forward to it, Amélie.” Angela manages to whisper, only to realize she’s speaking to empty air, curtains fluttering around the open window of her study. “… _Guten Abend_.”

Pressing two fingers to the marks at her throat, Angela draws out the sting until a hiss is forced between clenched teeth. Perhaps the wages of her sins are too many to be paid in a single lifetime, but that was the beauty of science.

She could have as many as she needed.


End file.
